


Lost Souls

by Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction



Series: The Monster Series Collection [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, IT'S VERY SAD, Modern Setting, au where bucky dies instead of becoming the winter soldier, ghost nazis, ghost whisperer!reader, ghost!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction/pseuds/Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction
Summary: You’ve been able to see them for as long as you could remember. Ghosts. Spirits. Souls. It didn’t matter what you called them, they plagued you day and night. Reapers couldn’t always convince them to pass on to the other side, which meant you saw them all the time. You’d stopped trying to help after a vengeful spirit had tried to kill you ten years ago.That all changes when you see a handsome ghost protect someone from… other ghosts?AU where Bucky dies in 1945 and never becomes the Winter Soldier.





	Lost Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Ghost!Bucky x Reader  
> Warnings: Language (as always), mentions of death/violence, major character death  
> A/N: Third one shot in the monster series. This makes me sad to write just on principle… But stick with it, folks, and I promise an incubus Bucky for the last part.

You didn’t look at them. The ghosts. In fact, you avoided eye contact with almost everyone. If people died in recent years it was almost impossible to tell them apart from the living. Sometimes it was obvious; people wore clothing from two hundred years ago, or used slang you didn’t understand.

The wicked scar that stretched from your left shoulder to the left side of your stomach was enough of a reminder of why you avoided them.

You’d tried to help them, once. The dead, that is. You’d tried to help them finish whatever business they had and get them to move on, but when a vengeful spirit took its anger out on you and nearly killed you, you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t interfere with their world again.

You’d gotten pretty good at spotting ghosts without them spotting you over the years; you’d had to. Though you still flinched a little every time you walked through one, trying to blend in with the people around you.

You were walking home, sipping your coffee on a chilly October afternoon when you spotted him for the first time.

He was following a tall, muscular blond man closely. Even from far away you could see his steel blue eyes scanning his surroundings carefully, his posture tense. If you had to guess by the clothing and rifle strapped to his back, you’d guess he’d died in the 1940′s; you’d seen enough World War II ghosts to recognize their weapons by now. His dark brown hair was also in a style indicative of the late 30′s and early 40′s.

What surprised you, though, was the fact that he wasn’t wearing a uniform. It was also surprising that he was sticking so closely to the blond man, but didn’t seem to be trying to talk to him. Usually when ghosts fixated on a person they were yelling bloody murder trying to get the person’s attention (not that it ever did them any good).

What shocked you the most, however, was when another ghost soldier appeared out of thin air and ran screaming at the blond man, pistol drawn. You froze on the sidewalk, watching the events unfold, your eyes as big as saucers. The ghost that had just appeared was screeching in… German? Yes, German. That was a Nazi uniform. Before the German ghost had a chance to fire at the blond man, the brown-haired ghost took it out with a well-aimed shot to the forehead. The blast of the gun made you jump, drawing the attention of the blond man who’d gotten closer while you’d been distracted.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” he asked you, making you tear your attention away from the bizarre event you’d just witnessed. You’d never seen anything like it. Ghosts killing other ghosts? Was that even possible?

You forced yourself to look at the man in front of you, determinedly ignoring the movement in the corner of your eye.

“Yes, I’m alright. My, uh, phone vibrated and it startled me is all.”

_There’s a ghost following you. He just killed another ghost; A Nazi. A ghost Nazi._

You gave him a fake but hopefully convincing smile. The brunette ghost came to stand just behind him, staring at you over the blond man’s shoulder. His blue eyes bored into you, scrutinizing every inch of you, and you couldn’t help but glance at him… directly into his eyes.

You let out a squeak of terror when his eyes widened in shock.

“Are you… sure? That you’re alright?” the blond man asked, eyeing you warily at your sudden outburst.

_Your ghost friend-stalker is scary and I want to run and hide from him.  
_

“Yes! Fine! I should be going, thank you for your concern!” you trilled, quickly rushing past him down the street.

You didn’t get more than ten feet before he appeared directly in front of you. You ground to a halt, staring at him with a look of pure terror on your face, pausing for only a second before you gritted your teeth and walked straight through him.

“Wait, please,” came his voice from behind you. You didn’t slow down or even glance over your shoulder, determined to make it home to your ghost-proofed apartment.

He appeared next to you this time, long legs easily keeping up with you as you sped down the block. “You can see me, can’t you?” he asked, desperation in his voice.

You kept your eyes forward, not daring to slip up again. You already saw how violent he could be, you wouldn’t risk-

He appeared in front of you suddenly again and you involuntarily flinched, and didn’t have time to dodge him, walking straight through him. You shuddered; walking through ghosts always felt so wrong.

“Man I hate that feelin’,” he muttered, walking next to you. “You flinched, though. I know you can see me,” he said cockily, grinning down at you as the two of you walked down the busy New York street. You didn’t deign his accusation with a response, refusing to give him any more reason to believe you could see him.

“And you’re ignoring me which means… you don’t want ghosts to know that you can see ‘em,” he said, Brooklyn accent coming through loud and clear. “I wonder what would happen if I told every ghost in a ten block radius about you,” he said slyly, smiling innocently at you.

You froze and turned to stare at him in shock.

“Ah, there we are. I knew you could see me. It’s good to know you can hear me, too,” he said, grinning his satisfaction. “Now, I have a few questions. First-”

“Not here,” you muttered, glancing around at the crowded street. You didn’t like looking like a crazy person, which was what happened when you talked to something no one else could see.

He froze mid sentence, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Follow me,” you whispered, keeping your lips as still as possible.

“Alright, Doll. This is your show, after all,” he said, winking cheekily. “Let’s make this fast, though. Can’t leave Stevie alone too long.”

You rolled your eyes; it was rich of him to impose time limits on you. You didn’t even want to have this conversation… but you also didn’t want the ghosts of half of Manhattan knocking down your door.

You glanced down the nearest alley and, spotting the thing you needed, turned down it, pausing to throw a wary look for any dangerous things that might be hiding in its nooks and crannies.

You jumped up and grabbed the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder, wincing a little at the sound the rusted, creaky hinges made.

“Meet me at the top,” you muttered bitterly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said good-naturedly, vanishing a half second later.

Ten floors later you were exhausted, panting slightly as you climbed onto the roof. He was waiting patiently, in the sort of relaxed but controlled way only a soldier could perfect.

“You had questions?” you said breathlessly, plopping down on the cool cement floor, wishing you had some water.

“I suppose the first one is: Why are we on a roof?” he asked, glancing around.

“So people don’t see me talking to you,” you said bluntly.

“So you chose a rooftop?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“It was nearby and impersonal. Don’t want you following me home,” you muttered.

He frowned, crossing his arms. “You get followed home a lot?” he asked, concerned.

“Not anymore,” you said, glaring up at him.

“Not since you started ignoring ghosts?” he asked, tone accusatory.

“Is this really what you wanted to talk about?” you asked defensively. The last thing you needed was a lecture about morality from a white dude from the 40′s.

He sighed deeply and studied you closely, arms dropping to his side. “No, not really. Do you know why you’re able to see me? Ghosts in general?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Nope. Been able to do it as long as I can remember, though,” you said, leaning back on your hands, legs splayed out in front of you.

He seemed to think about this for a second, but it was your turn. “Why did you shoot that other ghost? The one that went after that blond guy?” you asked, head tilted to the side as you studied him.

“They always go after Stevie… though you may know him as Captain America,” he said, shrugging.

“That… that was Captain America?” you asked, eyes widening.

“Yup, in the flesh. He unfroze recently, but I’ve been protecting him from vengeful spirits for decades. I guess New York is a nice change of pace; I was getting tired of looking at ice,” he said, glaring at the very thought of the stuff.

“So.. let me get this straight. Nazi ghosts are constantly trying to take Steve Rogers out, and you’re the only thing stopping them?” you asked, disbelief plain in your tone.

“Well they wouldn’t be able to kill him, but… they’d do a lot of emotional and psychological damage, and Steve would never know why,” he explained, grimacing. “My turn: Why don’t you talk to ghosts anymore?” he asked, crossing his arms as he studied you critically.

“One tried to kill me ten years ago. Got damn close, too,”  you muttered, holding your shirt up enough for him to see the bottom of the scar. You also pulled the neckline of your shirt to the side enough for him to see the top of it. 

“I thought ghosts couldn’t hurt the living directly?” he asked, brows furrowing in confusion. “You’re saying some ghosts can interact directly with people?” he asked, looking dazzled at the possibilities

“I know what you’re thinking, but don’t. Only spirits with a crap ton of resentment and hatred have enough power to influence the living directly and at that point…”

“They become a twisted shade,” he said, finishing your thought, to which you nodded numbly.

“I have another question,” you said, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Shoot,” he said, gesturing with one of his hands for you to speak.

“Who the hell are you to Captain America?” you asked, genuinely confused. “Most ghosts are either hysterical over not being able to talk to the living or haunt places, not people. You’re the first one I’ve seen that’s been so calm following a living person around, even though you can’t talk to him.”

“Can I pass?” he asked sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“No,” you said bluntly, glaring at him.

“Why not?” he whined. It was almost endearing.

“Because the end of this conversation ends with you asking me for help and I won’t do it unless I know who I’m helping,” you said, crossing your arms stubbornly.

To your surprise his eyes lit up with amusement, wry grin on his face. “Pretty and smart. Alright, I’ll tell you the whole sordid affair,” he said, winking at you.

You blinked and suddenly he was sitting beside you, rifle resting against his knee. “Well, to begin with, my name was James Buchanan Barnes, but everyone called me Bucky. I was born in 1917….”

* * *

An hour later, you’d gotten the rundown of Bucky’s life story, from the moment he was born, to his friendship with Steve Rogers, to his death in 1945, where he’d fallen off a train on a mission with the Howling Commandos.

“Man… do you know how many nerds at the Smithsonian would kill to be me right now?” you asked, smiling at him.

“ _I’m_ in the Smithsonian?” he asked, clearly not believing you.

“Oohhh yeah. You, Steve, the rest of the Howling Commandos. You’re one of the most popular exhibits.”

“Huh. Wild,” he muttered, lost in his own thoughts.

You studied him subtly out of the corner of your eye. He… was someone you might be willing to help. “Alright, let’s hear it,” you said, resting your head on your knees which you’d pulled to your chest.

He turned his head to you, gaze locking with yours, caught off guard. “You mean…?”

“I’m willing to hear your sales pitch, Barnes,” you said simply, giving him an expectant look.

“I need to talk to Steve. Let him know it wasn’t his fault I died. It’s eating away at him, I know it. It has been for years,” he said quickly, hope shining in his eyes.

You frowned. Yes, it was exactly like you thought. “Sarge… the living rarely take well to getting messages from beyond the grave. Not to mention Captain Rogers a devout man, I doubt he even believes in-”

“Please, just try. That’s all I’m asking,” he said, blue eyes pleading with you. “I can help you convince him it’s really me… I know things about him no one else knows,” he said earnestly.

You sighed. You were probably going to regret this, maybe even end up in a mental hospital for dredging up the darkest part of Captain America’s past, but you just couldn’t deny those piercing blue eyes.

“Fine,” you conceded, jumping in surprise when Bucky leaped into the air, whooping loudly. “Shh, shh. Keep it down. If all the ghosts in New York find me I’m never speaking to you again,” you threatened.

He smiled sheepishly at you. “Sorry, Doll. I’ll keep a lid on it,” he said, running his fingers nervously through his hair.

“Alright, where is he right now?” you asked, nearly falling over as you stood, your limbs stiff from sitting on a cold roof for an hour and a half.

“We’re going now?” he asked in slack-jawed surprise.

“Isn’t that what you want?” you asked, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah, it is… but I was kind of enjoying actually talking to someone who isn’t an angry yelling German man from 1940. Especially because she's such a pretty dame,” he said, winking at you.

Your rolled your eyes, turning your back on him to walk over to the fire escape. “Glad to know I rank above dead Nazis in your mind,” you said sarcastically. “Now, where's Captain Rogers?” you asked boredly.

* * *

You took a deep breath in an attempt to ground and steady yourself. You tapped the tall blond on the shoulder lightly, nearly freezing when he turned around and looked at you with those baby blue eyes.

Recognition flashed in them and he suddenly looked wary. You supposed you didn’t blame him. You probably looked crazy earlier.

Sadly, that trend was likely to continue.

Bucky was standing next to Steve, giving you an encouraging nod, eager smile on his face.

“You’re the girl from earlier,” he said, failing to hide his confusion. “Is there… something I can help you with?” he asked hesitantly.

“Actually, Captain Rogers, could I… talk to you?” you asked, wincing at how your voice cracked from nervousness.

“I’m actually on a bit of a tight schedule, I’m sor-”

“It’s really important,” you interrupted, anxiety creeping into your tone. Bucky glanced from you to Steve, worry obvious in his face. If you couldn’t get Steve to even talk to you he was shit out of luck. “Please.”

Something in your pleas must have convinced him because, after a moment of studying your face carefully, he nodded. “Alright, but I don’t have a lot of time.”

“You’re gonna wanna make time, buddy,” Bucky said, grinning broadly. You did your best not to look at Bucky or smile along with him; it’d just make you look unhinged, per usual.

You took Steve to a nearby restaurant, one with private booths. You sat across from him and Bucky stood at the edge of the table in the aisle between the two of you, eyes flicking between the two of you anxiously.

“Alright, so for the next few minutes I’m going to need you to have an open mind. A lot of what I’m about to say is going to sound insane, but I need you to stay until I’ve said my peace.” _Well, Bucky’s peace._

He didn’t say anything, but motioned for you to continue, eyeing you stonily over his interlaced fingers.

You took a deep breath. Here went nothing. You saw Bucky giving you an encouraging look from out of the corner of your eye. You almost wished he wouldn’t; he was more distracting than any dead person had a right to be.

“I see ghosts. I’ve seen them my entire life. Your best friend, Bucky, has been following you around since his death in 1945. He-”

“Stop talking right now,” Steve said quietly, but there was a sort of menace behind it that made your voice die in your throat. “You have no right-”

“Keep going, Dollface. Remember what I told you?” Bucky said encouragingly.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah. You used to wear newspapers in your shoes,” you said quickly.

Steve froze in the middle of getting up, eyes wide in shock. “How do you-”

“Bucky told me,” you said earnestly. “He needs to tell you something. Please, just… please, listen,” you pleaded.

To your immense relief, Steve slowly sat back down, eyeing you even more critically than before.

“You said you see ghosts?” he asked warily.

You nodded quickly. “I only met Bucky today. That’s why I was jumpy earlier; he was next to you and startled me. He… realized I could see him and begged me to give you a message.”

“I didn’t beg! It was… a polite request!” he said indignantly.

You glared at him. “You blackmailed me into talking to you,” you said bluntly.

“I did no such thing!” he said, scandalized.

“Who are you talking to?” Steve asked severely, causing both your and Bucky’s gazes to snap back to the blond soldier.

“Ah… uh, Bucky, actually,” you murmured, looking guiltily between Bucky and Steve. So much for not looking completely insane.

“He’s here?” Steve asked, looking at the area you’d been speaking at a few seconds ago.

“I’m right here, Stevie,” Bucky muttered, looking sad as Steve stared right through him.

“He’s right there,” you said, pointing to him.

Steve looked where you pointed, but you knew he saw only empty space. He looked back to you, gaze hard.

“So, say I believe you, which I’m not sure if I do yet. What is this message Bucky has for me?” he asked, crossing his arms as he stared down at you.

You took a deep breath, looking to Bucky for support. He gave you a gentle smile and nodded.

“He says it wasn’t your fault, what happened on the train. He stands by his decisions and would do it all over again if he had to. He says…” you glanced at Bucky, who, to your surprise, was crying silently, then back to Steve “… ‘I’m with you to the end of the line, pal’,” you said softly.

You watched as the hard mask Steve had been wearing broke and he buried his face in his hands, tears leaking out under his palms.

You expected Bucky to vanish, his business finished, but to your surprise he was still standing beside the table, tears of happiness streaming down his face.

“Why are you still here?” you asked him, genuinely confused.

Steve looked up, following your line of sight.

“Not done protecting that punk yet,” Bucky muttered

You nodded in understanding. “Yeah, right. Ghost Nazis.”

Steve’s gaze snapped to you. “What?” he asked incredulously.

_Ah, shit. If there was one thing that sounded undeniably insane, it was the phrase “ghost Nazis.”  
_

“Well, Bucky is… protecting you from the ghosts of all those Nazis and Hydra agents you killed back in World War II,” you said sheepishly, wincing at how crazy that sounded.

“Somebody’s gotta watch his six,” Bucky muttered obstinately, surreptitiously wiping his tears with his sleeve.

“Do you have any idea how crazy you sound?” Steve asked, small smile on his face.

“Painfully aware, thanks,” you mumbled, head falling forward onto the table.

“I believe you, though,” he said quietly, fiddling with his silverware.

“You do?” you asked incredulously, head flying up.

“You do?” Bucky echoed, disbelief etched on his face.

“Yeah, you said some things only Bucky would know or say, and I have a feeling only Bucky would be able to convince someone to go and say insane things to Captain America,” he said, smirking.

“It was the eyes that got me,” you smirked, glancing over at Bucky. “They should be outlawed in civilized countries.

“I’d like to think it was my winning personality,” Bucky said, puffing his chest out indignantly. You laughed at the pout on his face, shaking your head in disbelief.

“He just claimed it was his personality, didn’t he?” Steve guessed accurately. You nodded, grin widening.

“Pal, your methods for wooing women haven’t aged well, trust me,” Steve said in the general direction he knew Bucky was in.

“Well if I could talk to any of ‘em I’d put that theory to the test!” Bucky said challengingly.

“He says you’re wrong,” you told Steve, shit-eating-grin on your face.

“Well he is!” Bucky said stubbornly, arms crossed tightly against his chest.

“That sounds about right,” Steve said, chuckling softly. He sobered after a second, obviously thinking. “Would you… be willing to move into the Avengers compound?” he asked suddenly, catching you completely off guard.

“… What?” you asked dumbly.

Bucky looked surprised too, glancing between you and Steve, brows furrowed.

“Move into the Avenger’s compound. I think Wanda would like to meet you and you could be more at ease there… but my main reason is selfish. I want to be able to talk to him,” Steve said, jerking a thumb in Bucky’s direction.

“Please, Doll?” Bucky asked, giving you a look that was, frankly, too cute to be legal. His blue eyes pleaded with yours, practically sparkling in the restaurant’s dim lighting. “There’s a pool, gym, huge modern kitchen-”

“Are you seriously trying to get me to move in, too?” you asked him, slightly appalled.

“Bucky’s on board with it, too?” Steve asked, looking excited.

“Ok first off, you stop with that look. It’s unfair,” you said, pointing a finger accusingly at Bucky. “And you!” you exclaimed, pointing at Steve. “You thought I was insane fifteen minutes ago, and now you’re asking me to move in next door to you?”

“Well when you put it like that…” Steve said sheepishly, wincing as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh, come on. I bet you won’t even have to pay to live there. Go on, ask him,” Bucky insisted, making small shooing motions with his hands.

“… Would I have to pay to live there?” you asked, eyebrow raised.

“No, living there would be free,” Steve said quickly, a spark of hope glinting in his eyes.

You glanced between him and Bucky. Living in New York was expensive… and you’d be living with The Avengers, something just about anyone would kill for. And maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t be considered a freak there.

“Alright, I’ll do it,” you said quickly, getting the words out before you could talk yourself out of it.

“Yes!” Bucky cheered happily.

Steve’s smile was blinding and he wasted no time in pulling his phone out to make the right calls.

* * *

The next two years were amazing. You got close to the team, especially Steve,  Wanda, and Vision, and even learned how to control your powers enough to allow Steve to see Bucky. It took a lot out of you so you couldn’t do it too often, but the looks of joy on their faces made it worth it.

Over those two years you’d gotten closer to the brunette ghost than you’d gotten to any other before him, and it frightened you a little bit.

That was why, when you woke up to him sitting next to you, his hands cupping your cheeks, you were terrified.

No matter what you did, he’d never been able to touch you. What scared you the most, though, was the look on his face.

“I’m so sorry, Doll,” he said slowly, helping you sit up. “We were supposed to protect you, but-” he glanced behind you and you followed his gaze. What you saw made you want to scream. It was you, lying lifeless on your bed. “I was out with Steve and… and some shades got to you while we were away… stopped your heart in your sleep. I’m so, so sorry,” he mumbled, clutching you to his chest.

You cried, face buried in his chest. You sobbed for what felt like hours, and Bucky kept you company the whole time. You knew they’d moved your body out, but it was only when Steve walked into your room alone that you stopped crying enough to see straight.

You looked up at Bucky’s kind, understanding face and he carded his fingers through your hair.

“I’m sorry, I can’t- I can’t be there to let you talk to him anymore,” you whispered.

“It’s alright, (Y/N). The last two years were more than-”

“(Y/N)?” Steve asked, head whipping to the side, staring intently in the general area you and Bucky were in.

“-I deserved,” Bucky finished quietly, staring at Steve, face unreadable.

“Did he just…?” you asked slowly, wiping the tears from your eyes.

Steve’s eyes widened in shock. “(Y/N)! That’s your voice, isn’t it? It sounds… far away, but I’d recognize it anywhere,” Steve said quietly, stepping towards you and Bucky.

“He can hear you?” Bucky asked, awe in his voice.

You laced your fingers with his unconsciously, standing slowly. “Steve? Can you hear me?” you asked, taking a step towards him.

His head turned towards you, his gaze going right through you, but he nodded vigorously. “Yeah, I can hear you… I’m so sorry, (Y/N). We couldn’t protect you,” he said solemnly, making your heart constrict.

“Well, _to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure_ ,” you muttered, earning a confused look from Bucky and a disbelieving laugh from Steve.

“Did you really just quote Harry Potter at me from beyond the grave?” he asked, voice cracking a little with emotion. “That is _so_ like you.”

You looked from Bucky to Steve and back. “Guess I’m not done with you boys yet,” you said, leaning your head on Bucky’s shoulder. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wanted to be able to touch him the last couple years. His arm wrapped around your shoulder and he pulled you to his side, placing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Till the end of the line?” Steve asked, voice thick with emotion.

“Till the end of the line,” You and Bucky agreed in unison.


End file.
